The Legend of Mr Kane
by Sunbird Riding Shotgun
Summary: In a small no name town a local legend tells of the man named Mr. Kane. In a small group of theives they don't talk about the months they lost two of their own. E/H.


**Note: **Originally done for the Pictures2words challenge on livejournal. Betad by She Who Should Be Praised: ASL_Wonderland

* * *

**The Legend of Mr. Kane**

* * *

On the edge of a no name town in the middle of Nebraska there's an old house known as "The Old Jenson Place".

The children of the town had told stories about that old house since their parents were kids, maybe even longer. Supposedly the place was haunted by the ghost of Old Man Jenson who killed and ate his wife (or his widowed sister depending on who was telling the story) and some local kids and after he was executed he returned to his old house to wait for his next meal to walk inside.

Ever since Mr. Samuel Kane moved into the place the stories had been changing.

Early on it took awhile for the word to spread that the dark figure looming in the windows was a man rather than a ghost. Most newcomers were welcomed to the community at the local church and Mr. Kane never went to church.

Mr. Kane hardly went outside at all.

He went shopping for groceries once a week, at the exact same time on tuesday, and always bought the exact same things month to month. He never bought enough food to possibly keep him fed until the next week and by the end of his first month in town he looked thin, wasting, almost ghoulish really.

That helped the stories that he ate children like Old Man Jenson stick a little longer.

Not that the rest of his appearance helped with the stories either. The first thing that always registered with people were his dark eyes, like he was looking at you and through you and saw your death somewhere along the line. His face was set to natural, blank, like a shell shocked survivor of war that could keep the pain and terror and rage pushed inside with perfect control but you could see it in his eyes.

The first impression and early opinion of grown ups in town was that he was polite, but distant, and a very troubled man.

He didn't talk more than he had to, and was courteous when he did. He was nicest to older women and young girls but even that was just the faintest touch of warmth. He avoided blondes, older burnet women, and older men in general.

He kept away from children and they kept away from him.

The first sign of breaking pattern was a little under two months after his arrival when Patrick Miller, a local seven year old, told his parents he hadn't stolen the gummie frogs he was eating but Mr. Kane had given them to him when they passed outside the grocery store and told Patrick he was sorry to hear about his grandmother's death the week before.

Mr. Kane didn't come outside much, and when he did it was almost never farther than the steps of his front porch. No one knew what he did for a living but they knew his house didn't even have a landline.

No TV. No Computers.

The pastor's wife Mary Windswor who managed to talk her way in halfway through the third month after he'd come when he was starting to look like death walking later told her husband the only thing she'd seen that showed a sign anyone lived there at all was a desk with a typewriter and piles and piles of papers filled with what looked like nothing but ones and zeros and combinations of letters, numbers, and symbols that didn't mean anything.

The thing that made her heart hurt though were the dogtags sitting admits the clutter, the chain polished bright by wear and handling.

After that she left him a meal on his front porch every week as she walked home from church. She didn't know his story but among the grownups in town a different story had developed.

Mr. Kane was a war veteran suffering from shell shock. He'd returned home a changed man and his community had turned their backs on him so he'd left and tried to find peace in this little town. Some theorized that he'd returned home from the wars to find he didn't have a family to come back to, or maybe that his fiancé had left him or something like that, something to explain the way he'd react to certain types of people sometimes.

By the time Mr. Kane had been there four months a meal appeared on his front porch every night, delivered by one of the families in town that had a child in the military. They didn't know where Mr. Kane's family was or why they weren't helping him but they'd show him the kindness they'd want their own children given.

By that time a different story was developing among the children, spoken of only in whispers, kept a secret, kept silent, because every child knew there were some things that if you spoke of them too loud or told your parents about they'd go away.

They didn't tell their parents but two months after Mr. Kane moved in Tom Monouge fell out of the tree on the edge of Mr. Kane's property where he'd been climbing. He didn't break anything but he'd scraped his hands and arms up pretty badly and he was pretty shaken up. The commotion from him and his friends had brought Mr. Kane out of his house.

They'd been expecting him to yell at them or chase them off his property (half the point of them climbing that tree had been a dare after all).

They hadn't expected him to be carrying a first aid kit, or for him to sit there in the dirt so Tommy wouldn't have to move, or for his hands to be so gentle as he cleaned the injuries and check his wrists and arms for breaks.

They only sort of expected him to leave without saying a word more than he had to to take care of the injuries.

None of them expected the bag of gummie frogs Tommy found in his pocket later. No one had seen Mr. Kane slip them in there.

After that the kids slowly stopped avoiding Mr. Kane.

A girl with a skinned knee limped her way to Mr. Kane's house rather than home because it was closer. A group of kids found an injured bird and brought it to Mr. Kane. Three different girl scouts managed to sell him cookies.

Three months after he arrived the creek behind The Old Jenson Place stopped being a place only the very brave or very foolish went and started being a place they could play again.

A couple weeks after they started going there again a group of kids decided they really should thank Mr. Kane and their parents kept bringing him food because he was lonely and hurting. They started leaving little present on his back step. Pretty river rocks, some wild flowers, the dead dragonfly they found. Other kids did the same.

They knew he found and liked his gifts, he moved and arranged them to decorate the back porch, even taking some inside and sitting them on his windowsills.

It was Devin Smith that really made the legends around Mr. Kane solidify.

All the kids knew Devin was really a clumsy ten year old, that she got hurt a lot, and even if they never really said anything they knew her father and mother drank too much and sometimes they weren't very nice.

Years later no one would remember how exactly it happened, whether she broke down and got desperate enough that she went to Mr. Kane, or if maybe she just was hurt worse than usual and she tried to get help from him and pass it off as just another injury, or if one of her friends convinced her to go.

But she went to him one day and he did what he could for her and told her she could come back any time she needed shelter.

The next time she showed up Mr. Kane did something he'd never done in their town. He reached out and connected. He told her it wasn't her fault. That she was brave and deserved so much better.

He told her he had a friend, a real close friend, who'd been hurt as a kid. That his friend had grown up strong and brave and talented and had gotten what they deserved in the end, a loving family.

Devin wanted to ask what had happened to that friend to make Mr. Kane look so sad but she knew that sometimes you couldn't talk about things. Sometimes not talking about things was the only way you held yourself together.

The next time Devin showed up was after midnight. She was barely walking.

She asked Mr. Kane if she could stay forever.

He told her she couldn't but if she wanted he could make sure she never had to go home again.

In the dark of night five months after Mr. Kane came to town Devin Smith asked him to set her free.

The next morning a child service worker picked her up and that afternoon on her way out of town to a makeshift foster family with a stern but loving old foster mom half a state away she waved to Mr. Kane as she passed his house.

He waved back.

The grown ups of the town didn't know who it was who could get child protective services to come all the way out here and get through all the facades that family had going.

But the children knew Mr. Kane had been the one to save Devin, and it was something that they'd never forget.

To the grown ups Mr. Kane was a troubled but polite war vet, trying to recover from injuries to the soul they had to gentle along.

To the children Mr. Kane was a guardian who had exorcised the ghost of Old Man Jenson and the fight had been bitter and almost killed him (that was why he'd looked so sick early on), forcing him to stay in town while he healed up. Mr. Kane was a protector, a hunter, he fought evil things to protect kids.

Both sides noticed healing was slowly happening.

**oOo**

It was mid May when the stranger walked into Max's Mill, the local bar. Travel worn and tired looking, sitting down heavily at the bar no one knew what exactly to make of him. He didn't look much like a soldier but there was a certain air about him that spoke of battles fought and lost and he carried himself like someone on their last legs.

He made them think of Mr. Kane really, even if they didn't look anything alike.

He ordered a beer at the bar, almost completely distracted until he noticed the army tattoo on the bartender's arm.

"You served?" He asked.

The older man gave a half bitter smile. "Yeah." He slid the beer over. "That I did. 'Fought on the coast of hell in the summer of 1969. You?"

He nodded after a moment. "Yeah. Army Rangers. was in Pakistan last year." After taking a drink from the beer he offered his hand. "Name's Abraham Wheeler."

"Max, Max Miller" The bartender introduced himself, taking the hand. "Welcome to town Mr. Wheeler. What brings you this far out of the way?"

"Please, just Abe." Abe said with a little smile. "An' as for why I'm in town maybe you could help me. I'm lookin' for a buddy of mine I heard might be in town. It's a long story but somethin' happened 'bout six months ago and we lost touch. I've spent the better part of the last three months trying to track him down."

That got Max's attention. He had never met Mr. Kane but he heard plenty of talk about him. "Your buddy got a name?"

"See that's the problem. We lost touch 'cause the man was tryin' to disappear. He changed his name as far as I can tell."

Max considered this. "Did you two serve together?" He asked, a couple of ways this could have happened coming to mind. Of course there were a couple of ways this fella could have it in for Mr. Kane.

Abe sighed and settled into the barstool, looking into his beer. "Yeah." He nodded. "We were in the same unit, we've been together since basic training. Hell, that's the reason I gotta find him. By the time I got home an' out of the hospital the man was already gone. Idiot's probably all mixed up right now and I gotta set him straight and bring him home. He's got a little sister going half crazy missing him."

Max put down the glass. "I think I know who you're looking for. He's going by Samuel Kane, lives on the edge of town out by the old Jenson Place." He gave directions even as Abe got up, leaving his mostly full beer, and reached for his pockets for his wallet. Max shook his head. "This one's on me son. Go, find your friend."

There was only a mutter of thanks before Abe was out the door.

**oOo**

Five months.

Almost six really.

Five months and a week. Might as well be six months.

Might as well be an eternity.

Had it really been that long since they'd seen eachother? Since everything (and was there even a word that could remotely encompass *everything*) had happened?

Since a job gone south and…

He wasn't thinking about that right now.

No.

After three long months of searching there had finally been a lead. Out of the blue a cell phone not used in five months had come online and been used along with an alias (a new one, but he was good enough at what he did to not… okay, he'd been lucky).

The tracks had been well covered but following tracks was what he was good at. He had plenty of experience finding someone who didn't want to be found.

He followed the tracks to a little town in the middle of nowhere, to the local bar.

The bartender told him where to find Mr. Kane.

Which was how he found himself standing on the front porch, staring up at a man who looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Considering how south that last job had gone…

"Mr. Kane's" Hands dropped away from the door frame before reaching across the gap between them, long fingers tracing down the side of his face before the word left his mouth. "Eliot?"

Eliot raised a hand, wrapping it around the hand at his temple and bringing it down to rest on his chest where his heart beat steadily. "I'm alive Hardison."

Hardison flattened his palm against his chest, against that strong reassurance, and crumpled forward. Mr. Kane's silent, forced, frozen stability dissolved and Eliot found himself holding Hardison tightly.

He didn't know who needed it more.

"Wh…what the hell happened to ya man?" Hardison managed after a long long time. "I sss… I saw your… What was left of your…"

Eliot shook his head. He'd tell Hardison later. They'd talk about everything later. "Can I come inside?"

Hardison nodded mutely, silent for once, leading Eliot into the house, not letting go of his hand like he was afraid Eliot would disappear if he did.

Eliot was half afraid of the same thing.

The house was big but it was almost empty. There was no color, or flare, nothing that said "Hardison lives here".

There wasn't a computer or TV in sight.

As Hardison led them to the back of the house and a single lumpy couch Eliot noticed there was actually a little color.

Colored river rocks, pieces of colored glass, and a dead dragon fly rested on the sills of the back windows.

Hardison sat on the couch, habitually turning so (Eliot guessed) he could see out the back window.

Interesting.

Eliot sat on the other side, suppressing a wince. He was exhausted from the long push to get here as soon as he could and his injuries were still healing.

"You okay man?" Hardison asked. He'd gotten good at telling when Eliot was in pain and he'd gotten good at that quiet but not too soft question that usually got a answer other than "I'm fine" out of Eliot.

"Just a little tired." He answered. "An' not quite healed up yet."

"You should stay here an' rest a few days." Hardison said the familiarity, almost comfortable companionship, that they had once had fading again. The room felt colder. "Before you go back."

"Ya mean before we go back." Eliot said, locking eyes with Hardison.

Hardison didn't amend his statement, just dropped his gaze for a moment before shifting to look out the window into the darkened night.

For a long time neither spoke. Six months had passed. Eliot had had another brush with death that went closer than he was entirely comfortable with and now had many many more bad memories that he really didn't need. Now he found Hardison only to find a man so different than the man he'd been searching for ever since he came back from the dead to find the team scattered and no one having a clue where Hardison had gone off to.

But they were both alive and now they were back together and they could *fix* this.

Maybe.

They sat there in silence, long into the night, neither knowing what to say to bring them back to where they'd been before that December day when the world had fallen apart or even forward to some place where they could be okay.

"Parker misses you. We all do." Eliot said finally. Talking about the others felt safe. "After I got out I found Nate." He had been looking for Hardison, but Nate was easiest to find. He'd never left Boston. "He called Sophie. Sophie knew where to find Parker. We've been looking for you ever since."

No one knew where to find you.

Hardison didn't look at him when he asked. "When?"

Eliot knew he meant when did Eliot get out and start this. That was one question Eliot didn't want to answer, they didn't need to be thinking about that.

Hardison turned to look at him, face expressionless, distant, and Eliot knew it didn't matter when he'd gotten out. The damage had been done the moment that video had been sent.

"A little over a month ago. But I was out for awhile before I found Nate." He didn't say that he'd spent that time in a hospital barely alive. Hardison could probably figure out that much for himself.

Silence again.

Something was starting to color the eastern sky when Eliot finally said. "We need you to come back. Come home."

Silence lasted long enough for a red dawn to give warning before Hardison answered.

"I'm retired Eliot. This is home now."

Hardison left to go get some sleep soon after that, leaving Eliot with the couch if he wanted to get some sleep himself.

Eliot wasn't sure if it meant Hardison remembered that Eliot really didn't give a damn about sleeping on hard surfaces or not, that before Hardison had started giving him hell and refusing to spend the night at his place Eliot hadn't even owned a bed being just as happy with a rather comfortable couch, or that Hardison was still in his own world.

Really things had not gone how Eliot had hoped. He'd figured he'd find Hardison. Hardison would find out that he was not dead and things would be okay. Okay, so he'd figured it would be more complicated than that. It had been complicated with the others.

Nate had been drunk when Eliot found him. It took nearly sixteen hours for him to sober up enough to believe that Eliot was real and not just a hallucination. After that he had had to deal with Nate's guilt over the fact that A) his plan had gotten Eliot caught, almost killed, and held by some rather unkind folks and B) Nate was the one who, in his eyes, made them stop looking for Eliot.

The fact that Eliot had still been pretty badly injured didn't help.

Sophie had been slightly easier, at least she didn't think he was a hallucination, but she'd been mothering him like crazy ever since.

Parker had thought he was a hallucination too, but after he assured her he wasn't she had accepted he was alive and told him she'd always thought he was.

It had taken more than a week for him to realize a part of her had thought he'd just decided to leave.

That was something he'd still been trying to fix when they'd finally gotten a hint of Hardison's location.

So he'd come here, hopeing to find Hardison, and do his thing one more time.

Maybe Hardison was acting so oddly because he thought Eliot was a hallucination too?

It's another sign there is something wrong with your life or the people you associate with when three out of four of your friends are quick to believe they're hallucinating.

He'd just have to reassure Hardison he was indeed real and alive, that things were okay, figure out what else was wrong and fix it and bring Hardison home like he'd promised.

Once they got Hardison home life could go back to the way it had been.

Exhaustion eventually won out and Eliot slipped off to sleep as he watched early morning sunlight playing across the ceiling.

**oOo**

Eliot woke up to the sound of a typewriter.

He got up and moved toward the sound, finding the little enclave where Hardison sat in front of an old fashioned type writer, typing away.

Something inside of him Hurt when he realized Hardison was typing lines of code. That for whatever reason Hardison didn't allow himself access to computers and was using a type writer as his only outlet for the hacker within him.

"I'm real you know." He said.

That made Hardison turn, an almost familiar expression on his face. "What?"

"I'm real. Parker an' Nate both thought I was a hallucination. Figured that might be why you aint bein' normal."

Hardison's face shifted back to it's guarded expression. "I was waiting for you to wake up. I made breakfast."

Breakfast was toast and eggs. Basic but filling.

It was also eaten in silence, which was about as disturbing as anything else that had happened. He wasn't used to Hardison being quiet. He wasn't used to time spent with Hardison being quiet.

He had this insane urge to start a conversation about something, anything, but what was there to even talk about that wouldn't somehow draw back to the last six months?

"You okay with me stayin' for a few days?" Eliot finally asked as they finished. "I'm kinda tired and if this is where you plan on calling home I'd feel better if I had a chance to look 'round." He wasn't giving up. Not in the slightest, and even if Hardison told him he couldn't stay he wasn't about to go anywhere. Hell he wasn't going to be leaving here without Hardison even if he had to kidnap the hacker it wouldn't be the first person he'd retrieved.

He'd get Hardison home and things would be okay.

But plan A was still to figure out what the hell Hardison's issue was, fix it, and have him come home willingly.

Plan A would go a lot smoother if Hardison willingly let him hang around.

Hardison gave him that look that said he sensed there was something going on here but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"An' I'm using the alias Abe Wheeler." Eliot told Hardison, letting himself fall briefly into the old habit of getting stories straight necessary when more than one person was working a con. "We're old army buddies, knew each other since basic training. We lost touch after our last tour in Pakistan landed me in the hospital. I'm here tryin' to bring you back home to your sister."

Hardison gave him a look that Eliot couldn't quite identify. He just shrugged in response and said he'd be out back if Hardison needed him.

First he made a slight detour to his truck, grabbing his bag and brining it in. A fresh change of clothes later and he let himself out onto the back porch, sitting down on the step, and for a moment just let himself enjoy the peace.

It was strange. No matter how many years passed a quite morning with a clear blue sky and green grass and trees…

Something inside of him eased a little bit. It always did.

Footsteps moved somewhere behind him. A door slowly creaked open.

"_Good Morning Mr. Spencer." A voice said, soft and sickeningly sweet breath blowing past his face as hands settled on his shoulders, mockingly gentle as they traveled down over the bunch of raw nerves that was his back. "Ready for more fun."_

Eliot's head shot up, eyes locking on the blue sky above him as he took in a long steady breath and almost viciously shoved the flashback down and away. This was not the time or the place. He had to keep his head together, figure out what the hell was going on, and get Hardison home.

After the team was back together things would be okay again.

The backdoor closed and he heard Hardison retreat farther into the house and Eliot cursed internally at the maybe missed opportunity.

He took another deep breath, fighting down the urge to lash out in frustration (and maybe a hint of forming desperation). This wasn't how things were supposed to be happening.

His attention was drawn out of his head when he heard sounds on the edge of his hearing range. A small group was approaching the house through the slightly wooded area behind the house. Eliot straightened, listening intently, nerves already on edge making him ready to spring into action in response to a threat.

Then a child laughed and a moment later Eliot was certain the group wasn't a threat or even a group of grown ups but a group a children, five or six from the sound of their voices.

Only a minute or so later they emerged from the little path in the forest. From the looks on their faces they were almost as surprised to see him as he was to see them.

After a momentary stand off the eldest in the group, a boy who looked about ten, approached hesitantly. "Hello? Um… are you a friend of Mr. Kane?"

Eliot nodded slowly. "I am. My name's Abraham Wheeler." He glanced over the group and the river rocks and other little bits in the back windows and decorating the steps around him make sense. "Are you also his friends?"

The boy nodded. "We are. I'm Tom, that's Kimberly, Mary-Katherine, Joe, and Mick." He pointed back to the others. "We… Um… We brought him something." What looked like the youngest in the group, the girl identified as Mary-Katherine who Eliot guessed to be just passed six and probably Tom's younger sister, came forward holding up a bright blue and two bright red feathers that had been tied together with some string.

Without warning, and clearly to the groups horror, the girl went right up to Eliot and presented the little bundle. "Here." She said before lowering her voice. "Are you a hunter too?"

That caught him off guard. "A what?" He asked.

Tom quickly came forward, hands settling on the little girl's shoulders and none to subtly pulling her a step or two backwards. "Nothing. Just a dumb story."

"It's not a dumb story." Mary-Katherine insisted. "You told it to me. Mr. Kane fought the ghost of old Mr. Jenson. You said."

"MK Shut up!"

"_Just Shut up!"_

"But it's not! He saved Devin too! That's not a story!"

"Mary Katherine!" Tom insisted one more time trying to shhs the girl.

"Fine!" The girl threw up her arms and broke away from her brother retreating into the treeline. The other girl of the group went after her and the boys sort of floundered for a moment.

Finally Tom turned to Eliot again. "Sorry 'bout that. There's just old stories in town about how Mr. Kane chased off the ghost that used to live in this house and some kids think he's a special kind of ghost hunter or something." Tom said in the tone of voice that was meant to clearly show that, because he was ten, he was much to grown up for that sort of nonsense. "But he does help out the kids in town so it makes a good story I guess."

The boys left quickly after that and Eliot found himself staring at the little bird feather talisman trying to piece together the meaning of the most recent bits of information. His efforts were hampered by the growing headache, that sort of feeling at the back of his mind that there was something he was forgetting. Some little piece he knew but couldn't quite place.

Time passed and Eliot went back into the house, looking for Hardison to hand over the little treasure.

He found Hardison in front of the type writer, working to type away line after line that made no sense to anyone but a hacker.

From the doorway Eliot couldn't quite make out what it said but there was an odd sort of beauty to the black lines on white paper, almost mesmerizing really.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, an odd feeling like he had been here before.

The feathers in his hand felt heavy. A ghostly sensation of cool metal slid against his skin.

"Why won't you come back?" Eliot asked. The click of keys fell silent and the silence hung in the air.

"Are you going to make me say it?" Hardison asked, the almost broken note on his voice shocking Eliot.

He should have said yes or no or demanded an explanation or something. He was a good con man and good with people and he knew how to maneuver situations like this.

He shouldn't have said. "I should just go."

But that's what he said, and did, and that was how he found himself sitting on the back step again staring at the feathers and trying to figure out what the hell this all reminded him of and why that shine of bits of metal on the table, half hidden by piles of paper bothered him so much.

That was where he was when Tom from earlier came racing back to the house together, shouting for Mr. Kane.

Before Eliot even could put together a response Hardison had come out of the back door and the group had arrived on the back step.

"Mr. Kane! Mr. Wheeler!" Tom called. "It's Mary Kathrine. She went way up the creek and fell and we can't get her back on our own and…"

"Okay, first, breathe." Hardison said an odd mix of the man Eliot knew and this stranger. "Is she hurt?" Tom nodded. "Badly?"

"I don't know."

"Okay I'm going to go get my things then you'll show us where to find her." He gave Eliot a passing glance, the request that Eliot came along clearly there. He had taught Hardison a good deal about field medicine but Eliot was still the best person to have when there were injuries involved.

Eliot nodded. "Don't bother with your stuff, I've got a kit in my truck." Eliot said already moving. He was back in less than a minute, slinging the field medic bag over his shoulder, not breaking stride when Tom started back down the path as soon as he saw Eliot returning.

Tom led them down the path to a creek not very far behind Hardison's house before leaving the path to follow along the side of the creek going upstream. "We normally stay close to Mr. Kane's house, or downstream closer to Devin's old house." Tom explained. "It gets really really rocky upstream and the water gets deeper."

Even as they went the going was getting harder as the pebbles linning the creek bed became larger and more jagged, forcing them to slow down and watch their footing.

Eliot heard the soft crying before they turned the final bend and saw the two girls up ahead. From just the approach Eliot could see no obviously broken bones but the girl's hands and arms were pretty badly cut up and Kimberly was pressing her jacket to the younger girl's right leg. Judging from the ugly stein it wasn't for a good reason.

As they picked their way upstream to the others Eliot could tell why they'd needed to come get help. Tom wasn't big enough to carry Mary-Katherine for more than a little ways and it would make maneuvering over the rocks nearly impossible. Him and Kimberly supporting her between them might have worked if it weren't for the fact that even going single file was hard in some spots.

They reached her and Kimberly back away. Eliot took over, giving both girls a comforting smile and listening absently as Hardison took over reassurances to let Eliot focus on his work.

Mary-Katherine had a pretty bad gash on her right calf that might need stitches and judging from the beginning of the swelling she probably twisted her ankle bad enough it would be a couple of weeks before she was back to running around like normal but nothing permanent.

At least not with their help.

"You're doing real brave Mary-Kathrine." Eliot told her. It was something you told kids. It made them braver to be told they were being brave. And really considering the circumstances the fact she was only crying a little was pretty brave. He got to work getting her ready for the trip back to Hardison's place. "And I wantcha to know you're gonna be fine." Eliot reassured her. "Just a little bit longer and we'll get you home and taken care of." Mary Katherine nodded.

Somewhere behind him Hardison was talking to Tom and Kimberly. "You two go back and go to the closest house of someone you know and call your parents. We'll get Mary Katherine back to my house but she shouldn't have to walk home." There was a pause, like one almost argued and Eliot could almost see Hardison shake his head. "It's getting late and it's going to be getting dark soon. You two stay together, make sure no one else gets hurt."

Before they left though Tom came over kneeling next to Mary-Kathrine. He looked at the ground and mumbled. "Sorry for shouting at you MK, and calling the stories stupid but next time please don't go running off all mad and getting hurt."

She looked away, looking almost embarrassed before saying. "It's okay."

"I'll see you when you get back."

_Hardison looked away, not meeting his eyes, which was fine with him. He wasn't particularly eager to make any connection of any kind either. "See you when you get back." Was all Hardison said. Eliot shook his head, frustrated, and left._

The two went running off and Eliot finished what he could. "You ready to get home?" He asked Mary-Kathrine who nodded. Carefully and gently Eliot picked the girl up. "Alright, then we'll get out of here." He nodded to Hardison who started leading the way back downstream at a much slower pace than the two kids had gone, careful to pick the right path.

"What was that about?" Eliot asked the girl after as they started to walk.

She looked away making a face. "I was mad 'cause Tommy called the stories stupid so I went up stream like I'm not s'posed to. I wasn't paying 'ttention an' I fell." She let out a annoyed breath before sighing a little, defiantly sulking. "Now he thinks it's his fault. He's like that. He thinks he has to protect me 'cause dads away at war." She was fiddling with something and when he looked down she'd pulled a set of fake dog tags out from under her shirt and was fiddling with them.

_Hardison looked down, fiddling with the dog tags Eliot had just given him. "I…" For once he didn't seem to have anything to say._

Bits and pieces shuffled, reordered themselves, and fell into place.

"Mr. Wheeler?" Mary-Katherine's voice pulled him back to the present. "Are you 'kay?"

He wasn't and things weren't, but he'd figure things out enough that he might be able to fix them.

He nodded. "Yeah."

They finally made it back to Hardison's house and they had just settled Mary Katherine onto the bench on Hardison's front porch when her mother arrived.

Things were explained, thanks were give, a lot of various details were worked out and at least one child was grounded but things were settled as the sun started to get lower in the sky.

They settled onto the front porch. Hardison seemed to just settle down out of habit while Eliot was more tired than he wanted to admit, although he hadn't noticed at the time the small adventure had put a strain on his still injured body.

And he wanted to talk to Hardison about what he'd figured out, he just wasn't sure how to start the conversation.

Without seeming any reason Hardison got up and went inside, maybe going to the kitchen to get something together for dinner, Eliot wasn't really sure.

Eliot followed him, not really surprised when Hardison went back to his desk and typewriter instead. Eliot leaned against the doorframe, starting to talk and hoping he said the right thing. "I don't remember anything leading up to when they took me."

Hardison went still.

"They knocked me out, gave me a pretty bad concussion. Combined with the drugs they had me on for the first few days I barely remember the prep work for the job. 'don't really remember much of anythin' of the day or two before I got caught."

Eliot took a step into the little nook. "I couldn't figure out what was wrong. But I think I remember now. Bits and pieces at least." He crossed what was left of the distance, brushing a piece of paper aside to pick up the dog tags, his dog tags, that had been laying on the table. "We fought about something and I gave you my dog tags. I left an' didn't see you again before I got caught."

Hardison's voice sounded hollow when he said. "You gave me your dog tags and I freaked out." His hands fell to his sides. "It felt… I don't know… but I was. I just freaked out. I gave 'em back to you. Tried to make a joke about it… you got pissed." Hardison didn't have to say he knew Eliot had gotten angry to hide the hurt. Eliot knew he hadn't hidden it well. "And you just left. You left without sayin' when you'd be back. You never do that. And you just… you disappeared. Then we get that god damned video tape of them…" He ran out of words.

Eliot didn't really have any to add right then.

"You never took them back." Hardison finally managed. "I never gotta tell you I want them. That I just.. I don't know got freaked out man. It happens you know? I'm not used ta this." His posture dropped forward, like he was curling up on himself. "You left angry and you got caught. All this time you keep tellin' me we have to keep things professional when we're on a job so you won't get distracted… I kept thinkin' maybe if you hadn't been distracted they never would have got you."

There was a lot of things Eliot could say, to that and to everything else.

But Hardison ran out of words and didn't seem to be able to find more and while Eliot could con with the best of them he was a hitter and he was better at letting his actions speak for himself.

He turned, taking a slow step toward Hardison before putting his dog tags around Hardison's neck, his hands settling on Hardison's shoulders afterwards.

When Hardison looked up and back toward him Eliot met his eyes.

Things weren't okay and they might not be for awhile, but for the first time in months Eliot thought he might be alright with that.

Things left to be said were left unsaid but the unspoken offer made six months ago was answered and a promise finally sealed with a kiss.

**oOo**

On the edge of a no name town in the middle of Nebraska there's an old house known as "The Old Kane Place"

The children of the town had told stories about that old house since their parents were kids, maybe even longer.

Supposedly the place was once haunted by the ghost of Old Man Jenson who killed and ate his wife (or his widowed sister depending on who was telling the story) and some local kids and after he was executed he returned to his old house to wait for his next meal to walk inside. It had stood a terror to the neighborhood until a man named Samuel Kane came through and took up residence in the house, banishing the ghost.

Mr. Kane was a hunter of ghosts and a defender of children but he'd been badly wounded in the fight and he had a dark secret, something that hurt him on the inside and made him sad. The children of the town had done what they could to cheer him but healing had been slow.

Then one day another hunter, a friend (or lover depending on who tells the story) of Mr. Kane's who he had thought dead returned to tell Mr. Kane the time had come for him to move on. There were other monsters in the world and Mr. Kane had done what he could for this town.

They left in the dead of night, the old Kane house remaining abandoned, an old fashioned type writer the only thing left behind.

The legend says that if you're in trouble and desperately need help if you sneak into the old Kane Place and type your troubles on that typewriter Mr. Kane will return to help you.


End file.
